#Fedecks

[dimity-lawn]

[creativenicocorner]

⭐️ :D

Thank you so much @verdigrispatina!

It's practically Hogswatch so lets ramble about the Sto Helit family!!!

Despite how dormant my Discworld writing is atm Im always full of Thoughts, and much like with Moist von Lipwig, if I sit and think too long about the Sto Helits and Death family I just find myself emotionally compromised

They're so needlessly wacky and dysfunctional I swear!!

Anyways one of these days within the ♬ﾟThe Sto Helit Family ♪♪♪♪ [snap snap] series I'm going to write several 'little' fics exploring Ysabell and Lady Sybil's friendship - I'm convinced they were at least penpals (and that they met during Ysabell and Mort's wedding) And with that leads to so many IMPLICATIONS and juicy tidbits to discover

Like...were they at Sybil and Vimes's wedding? Were they there?!?! Was it them that suggested to Death to try and be more approachable (causing him to try doing knock knock jokes of all things??)

Textually we don't know, obviously, there is only one small throw away line in Men at Arms that hints to Lady Sybil's friendship with the Duke and Duchess of Sto Helit (when she's telling Sam she knows a nice young couple in search of a new captain of the guard)

But in my little sand box world we are taking that line and Firmly Grasping It haha

Also, because I think it would be absolutely uncomfortably hilarious, I would LOVE to find the time to write Dinner Party Fic - in which Ysabell and Mort attend a fancy dinner party (either hosted by them, or at the Ramkin estate) where there's a death at the party which turns into a very quirky Who Done It. Cue Vimes considering Mort as suspect number 1, much to Sybil's chagrin, and Death finding this very interesting indeed. Spoiler, it wasn't Mort lol I don't know still who the real perpetrator will be...tempted to make it natural causes hahaha

Anyways here's a little snippet:

Vimes observed this so called Duke, he had been to many of his wife’s dinner parties and felt that he Knew The Type - yet this Duke didn’t seem very, well, Duke-y. That is to say, the Duke of Sto Helit didn’t fill out the first imagined picture that would pop into his head when he thought Duke. Instead the picture was more ‘flying by the seat of my pants’-esque. Vimes grinned. This was interesting. Sure the Duke of Sto Helit occasionally looked around like he was searching for a handbook on how to be a nob, but ever so often he would give a Look. Not like the sort Assasins would give which was calculating how much it would cost to get you killed, but something all together different. The cost didn’t matter it was bound to happen eventually.

Also ALSO imagine after Ysabell and Mort's death, in which Sybil tries to reach out to Susan OOF I don't think that would be easy.

Yet through it all, I think it would be funny if Vimes doesn't fully Get that the Sto Helits have a literal connection to Death, like yeah there's rumors and a little blurb in Twerps Peerage we know textually exists due to Hogfather - but would Vimes even want to know? Or care?? Despite Vimes and Death's continuous 'near Vimes experiences'?? I haven't decided yet! We'll figure that out together I suppose haha

in OTHER news... here's a The Runaway's Gamble spoiler presented with little to no context!

«You know in my previous incarnation I was once a rain god?» "What does that have to do with messages?" asked Susan. «Not too much I suppose. Not a lot of writing on rain drops.» The joke fell flat before Susan's deadpan. The deity pressed on, unfazed: «There is of course, some sort of symbology in it. A message of well, crops growing, life continuing etc etc…then an explosion happened and, well, old god new tricks, turned into the moisture of caves, promise of running water - lot of life symbology in water.» "And?" «Well things certainly get quite chthonic in a cave - one thing led to another, and BAM part of the chthonic subsection B under paragraph 34-7 depicting the chthonic agreement.» "I'm starting to loose my patience here," said Susan quite levelly, "what does this have to do with you having a letter from my mother?" Once Rain God now Messenger, among a load of other things, Fedecks beamed and spaked thusly: «Psychopomp. Messenger and Psychopomp.» "Oh."

AaAAaAaAaaAnd tada! I'm sorry for always teasing things with this fic, I promise I'm working on it!! It's one of my 2024 goals to actually finish it haha

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗Thank you so much for your question!! Happy Hogswatch! ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[morgue-xiiv]

Look, buddy, you can't ALL have a wfh job opportunity with fedecks available now. Clearly something is going on here.

[cipher-of-the-round-table]

Fate’s been kicking God’s ass then as well as Offler’s, Anoia’s, Blind Io’s, Aniger’s, Astoria’s, Bibulous’, Bilious’, Errata’s, Fedecks’, Flatulus’, Forgool’s, Ikebana’s, Jimi’s...

Twist: Magical girl team’s cute power-granting animal mascot turns out to be the Devil. Like, not a malevolent alien or something – the actual, theological Devil.

Twist x2: There isn’t actually a terrible price attached. In the Devil’s own words, they don’t make deals – anyone who’d willingly sell their soul already belongs to them – and they’re pretty sure it’s technically not even a sin, since the girls didn’t know it was the Devil when they took the offer. The Devil claims they just did it for fun.

Twist x3: The Devil is, of course, lying: they actually did it to win a bet with God. (Again.)

Twist x4: There isn’t even a final battle. The girls end up holding an intervention for God’s gambling problem.

(They also try to give the Devil shit for being an enabler, but the Devil is just like “I am literally the Devil”.)

[roller-rink-haruno]

Was anyone going to tell me that the “forgotten god of the post office” in Discworld was named Fedecks, or was I just supposed to find out on my own at 1:30AM and be HAUNTED WITH THAT KNOWLEDGE ALL DAY LONG?!?

[iviin-855]

Moist von lipwig isn't a rogue, he reclassed into a paladin of Fedecks after he said "I commend my soul to any god that can find it". He just didn't notice the change because the domains of Fedecks (thievery, commerce, travel and trade) aren't that different to those of the common conman

[selectivegeekwithstandards]

Moist von Lipwig and the Celestial Custody Battle

Right before Moist “died” he devoted his soul “to any God who could find” it and Fedecks was just like “MINE” - because if anyone could find Moist’s soul it would be the discworld equivalent of Hermes, but unfortunately Moist didn’t die so Vetinari was like “nope I was here first” and so they settled on joint custody with Vetinari being promoted to honorary angel for legal reasons. 

And THEN Moist was sent to the Royal bank, a building which was ORIGINALLY built as a kind of bird house for gods, like they built it in the hopes that a god might just HAPPEN to come in and decide to stay there, but the gods were like “excuse me? what is this real estate bullshit? It’s custom made or nothing buddy” 

And so it was turned into a bank, a bank which was shitty and didn’t work properly and became the place for a greedy old family who worshipped money (GOLD) above all else. Now I for one would like to suggest that the building is slightly sentient, because that’s a Discworld thing, and this building, which was so used to its inhabitants loving gold, and the building is dying - like the carpets are old and manky and things are covered in dust and the gold is gone.

And in come’s Moist von Lipwig with a shiny golden suit and a soul that glitters brighter than diamonds (because it has more to prove), and the building just goes “MINE” and since Fedecks doesn’t really need Moist anymore he’s just like “ok if Dad Vetinari says it’s alright”, and so Moist becomes master of the royal mint, and the Bank doesn’t really mind if there’s no gold because Moist is shiny enough as it is. 

And let’s not even START talking about Iron Girder.

[roller-rink-haruno]

Ah yes. A fine thing to declare after being shown the past glories of the Ankh Morport post office and the beautiful statue of the messenger god that used to be there. Surely, such a magical moment being interrupted by a landslide of unmailed letters, under which Moist has found himself buried under, isn’t going to attract attention, especially if he says that right then.

He gets a nice hat out of it.

This book!!

[skyofdarkmatter42]

Things that are absolutely the best about Terry Pratchett's going postal

Main character's name is a word that has articles about why people find it disgusting

"I'm moist, don't laugh. -You're laughing aren't you?"

"bloody stupid Johnson decided pie was messy so he rounded it down to 3" "but that breaks the laws of the universe" "well yeah"

THE GOD OF DELIVERING MAIL IS CALLED FEDECKS

When moist is like "yeah I'll ride your crazy horse I'll even do it bareback just one sec" *goes into his office to cry a little* *comes back down* "heck yeah let's do this!"

Nickname Moist gave Adora Belle: Spike

Nicknames Adora Belle Dearheart gave Moist: bolt of lightning, slick, little sunbeam

When moist says he'll do an impossible thing he has no idea how to do, completely regrets it but finds a way to do it because he has to keep appearances, immediately promises something bigger. It's a neverending cycle

Ask a girl out on a date by shouting it into a crowd. Ask a girl to marry you by shouting it into a crowd

[thefankid]

FEDECKS THE MESSENGER GOD IM-

[creativenicocorner]

Seeing your opinions on writing dialogue in other languages in fic was really neat. It seems like you put a lot of thought into how you handle dialogue and it made me curious about how you approach this in A Funny Old World. When Moist meets everyone, is he speaking Japanese? Do you have Morporkian and Japanese as being the same language in this fic or is there something else?

♡___〆(・∀・) What a wonderful question @verdigrispatina !! Thank you for asking!!

It's a little tricky in A Funny Old World because it is a bit of everything. Two things are happening that are true:

Moist is from the Discworld (a world as we know strongly powered by belief. Believe something hard enough and it might just manifest in strange and interesting ways.)

Teruki is hinted at actively reading and dreaming about Discworld books ( I said in my fic notes, I'm working under the assumption Japan was very lucky to have all 41 books translated.)

So what happens when these two very true things happen at the same time? And I've sort of built it off of that.

Moist is able to communicate with Reigen and Teruki not only because his book was translated and Teruki was having strong emotions about the series, but also right from the get go Reigen mistakes Moist as Just Some Guy™ -why wouldn't this average looking guy in Japan not know how to speak Japanese? Even if he looks a little foreign, his face is hard to pin down.

In a future chapter when Reigen and Teruki start questioning this a bit more, especially when the three of them grab ramen together, the pair of them can see how strong their influence on Moist can be with their belief.

In the scene not only has them wondering how it is that Moist can communicate with them, but other small things like a seasoned pro (using chopsticks for example), the more Reigen and Teruki start to agree that, maybe it isn't very realistic that Moist would know how to use chopsticks, the more Moist starts gradually not being able to use them and gets increasingly frustrated because: 'I was managing perfectly before!'

This leads to Moist having his own version of the famous Taako Adventure Zone quote: I have emotions! It’s not all abraca-fuck-you and what have you. I have a beating heart! I’m multi-dimensional! I’m a fully-realized creation! FUCK!

That is to say Moist ends up working over time trying to continuously explain that He's a REAL PERSON!! He has a WIFE WAITING FOR HIM!!!! Cue Moist having to believe in his own existence - it gets very existential haha

And YET that too is the power of belief, if Reigen and Teruki don't believe then Moist has to work EVEN HARDER to believe in himself, and his existence. (There's this really silly, but hopefully powerful scene I want to get to, where Moist and Reigen are out on Reigen's balcony while Reigen smokes, and Moist has a rendition of "I miss my wife, Reigen. I miss her a lot." and the scene slowly becomes more and more sobering. Full of complex emotions, leading Reigen to accept that, yes he might be a character from a book, but Moist is also right in front of him with flesh and able to bleed and cry. What's more real than that?)

After all that number 1 detail that is still very true!! Moist IS REAL, REALLY from the Disc. Specifically a post canon Disc, and paired with that, well, I very much like to head canon Fedecks (the pseudo Hermes of the Disc) never really left Moist after what he did in Going Postal. Moist as a character embodies so naturally all the things that Fedecks (Hermes) represents: thieves, messenger of the gods-and messages in general, psychopomp, watcher of travelers and cross roads.

I have a lot of feelings about Moist and his similarities to Hermes, which I hope to explore further in detail in other works (A Runaway's Gamble is for sure one of those works)

That is to say, I like to think Fedecks borrows in Moist, just in there along for the ride in his fancy silly avatar- delightfully curious as to what he'd do next. And because of that, Moist is, unknowingly, a trans-dimensional trickster god. Very human, can still bleed etc, but certain things will work or not work by, essentially, Bugs Bunny Logic (whether it would be funny, or hilariously not funny) and ye olde narrative convention.

Something Moist unknowingly taps into while trying very hard to believe he is real.

The only character who gets close to figuring the whole piggybacking trickster god thing out is Dimple who tries to possess Moist (multiple times). Only to get jettisoned (or self ejects) out after a harrowing encounters with Fedecks.

All this to say, the answer is Yes!

Morporkian is Japanese, because the Discworld books were translated in Japanese. But also, Morporkian is still Morporkian and Moist has a piggybacking trickster god inside that thinks it'd be boring if Moist couldn't use his words.

I hope this made sense, and that I articulated it well!

♡⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝♡Thank you so much again for asking!!♡

Best wishes, Nico

[roller-rink-haruno]

I mean, look at the major Hermes vibes coming from the Moist Von Lipwig books. It was absolutely intentional. No question about it.

I can’t stop thinking about the details in Night Watch. Big Odin mood in the symbol of vimes losing use of one eye for that book, sacrificing one eye for wisdom/remembrance. The more I think about it: Odin, the all-father, eye of the storm, god of magic, thieves, and wanderers; Odin, who hung himself on yggdrasil, the tree connecting worlds, setting out to sacrifice himself to himself...

...Yeah, it wouldn’t surprise me if this was intentional

[9-tc]

Jaid owhn #brand #fedecks https://www.instagram.com/p/CApp_77DARq/?igshid=2oxeifg7myzz

[zendarenn]

Newest baby in my life. Meet my #RoyalEnfield Dispatch, named Fedecks after the #Discworld messenger of the gods. https://www.instagram.com/p/Bzhb0enjmJw/?igshid=15zicq3qhx00p

[horizontemexiquense]

Detienen a Dos Ratas, son de La Esmeralda en Zumpango

Detienen a Dos Ratas, son de La Esmeralda en Zumpango

Tizayuca, Hgo. Tres jóvenes identificados como vecinos del Fraccionamiento la Esmeralda en Zumpango, asaltaron a pasajeros de una unidad de transporte público que circulaba en el tramo de Huitzila con número económico 41.

Los presuntos viajaban a bordo de una camioneta Chevrolet Astra y responden a los nombres de Ángel Antonio “N”, de 18 años, Fedeck “N” de 18 y D R R., de 16.

Luego de…

[creativenicocorner]

Okay! okay, I’ll give a tiny sneak peek (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ cause I’m really excited for these Discworld fics even though it’ll take some time to publish on Ao3 

Trial Runs and Errors upcoming ch4: 

Ainsel Fuchs was currently dangling by his knees upside down outside an unsuspecting third story window. He was doing this for multiple reasons...

Reason 1.) First and second story windows tended to have rot iron bars to deter thieves who were strolling by and considering to partake in a quick breaking and entering before evening elevenses*. [*not to be confused with its more fashionable and well known morning elevenses generally carried out. Evening elevenses are for the more rogue-ish sort who are centered around nocturnal habits]

Reason 2.) Someone had laid aside their sewing, which was very beneficial for operation Many Pockets.** [**In which, after failing to retrieve his worldly goods from the recently revived vampire Otto - Ainsel and Maurice decided to move on and focus on another means of carrying possessions, not just Ainsel’s, but other people’s too.]  

Reason 3.) There’s the added promise of also being able to swipe some pie that was left on the windowsill to cool.

Ainsel gripped the windowsill, and gave a whistle that could have been somewhat similar to a bird call, if the bird was choking on a crumb that is.  

“How many times do I have to tell you, don’t whistle at me,” hissed Maurice as he slowly made his way down to the windowsill via Ainsel.

“Well how else am I supposed to tell you things are okidoki? Should I chitter like a squirrel? Or squeak? Or-”

“A simple ‘Okay’ is fine, thank you. Now hush, you want to alert the whole house?”

“No, no I’m sure we’re very inconspicuously doing this at seven in the morning.”

“Shut up.”

With that, Ainsel felt Maurice’s weight practically lift off, as the streetwise street cat  lept to the windowsill.

Maurice considered the pie, nibbled the crust’s edge thoughtfully, and slunk down into the kitchen, keeping to corners and the cover of chairs and tables as he tried to remember which side of the apartment they saw the sewing kit.

With a single bound Maurice leapt onto a coffee table and gathered as much of the supplies as he could in his mouth, with no consideration towards color-coordination. Little bundles of thread tickled Maurrice’s mouth and jugular, and it took him a great deal of effort to not gag or cough. That is, until he stepped on an un-fastened needle.

My Good Friend Lady Sybil Ramkin (from the ♬ﾟThe Sto Helit Family ♪♪♪♪ [snap snap] series): 

It was a good sweep, thought Ysabell as she stood with queen Keli listening to introductions and graciously responding, as best as she could. She tried not to let the haughtiness of other royals intimidate her, and, in a bratty sort of way, repeated in her mind ‘my father will see you eventually’. It wasn’t the best lifeline, and a part of her internally nagged at how unbecoming a thought that was. But it served its purpose matching haughtiness with haughtiness*.  [*When she’d later disclose this internal ‘rah-rahing’ to Mort, he’d laugh, not mockingly, but with an adoring twinkle in his eye, and comment how she already had a perfectly natural haughtiness of her own. In fact, with a withering look alone she could make anyone feel as small as a beetle. To which Ysabell walked away feeling slightly better, yet likewise unsure if she had been subject to a lover’s tease.]

After years upon unmarked years with her only friend being her father, his manservant, and various horses and ponies, a part of Ysabell felt she could use any help she could get. Which is when she’d lean on her other tactic, drawing inspiration from various heroines she had read about through the years, while thinking herself clever enough to avoid the Heroine’s Dramatic End. After all, there is such a lot of life to live, and just because she was married didn’t mean her life was all Happily Ever After. She did plan to live her life happily though, and felt very happy indeed. 

Queen Keli continued to sweep Ysabell from royal to royal, until she started to feel like one of those card games people tried to play with her father. No one particularly stood out, until she met the representative of Ankh-Morpork. 

“Lady Sybil Ramkin,” was the tail end of Keli’s introduction that Ysabell tuned in for.

Ysabell was staring in awe, she had never seen anyone like Lady Ramkin. She was, not imposing, that wasn’t the right word, but took up space with the confidence of a prize galleon ship. In a glance, she was kind, but with a twinkle in her eye that showed she wasn’t above ‘a healthy slap on the back sort of mischief’. 

“As much as I am sure Havelock would have loved to be here at this momentous occasion in person,” Lady Sybil boomed as joyous as a ceremonial canon, “I hope it is amenable for me to serve as proxies, and extension of good will.” Lady Ramkin didn’t curtsey, not unless the tilting of a ship to one side could be called a curtsey - and all done with a style that continued to take Ysabell’s breath away. Keli and Ysabell leaned back so not to get caught up in Lady Sybil’s chestnut mast-erm- hair. 

She herself was also a beautiful corpulent young lady, no, duchess, and looked on Lady Ramkin like a lighthouse of comfort in a sea of scarecrows with balloons attached*. [*Not that actual balloons have entered into court fashion. Though with the way fast fashion flashes by on the Disc, it could be a matter of time. However, what Ysabell was referring to was the ever popular bumroll. It is a miracle what enough bumrolls can do to a scarecrow. Not to be confused with the bumroll moment of 1560 in which, in a marvelous moment of commercial genius a one CMOT Dibbliét considered selling scarecrows with the pastry bumrollet attached, in hopes to gain a profit from local rural communities under the idea that “if the crows aren’t scared of the the scarecrow, perhaps they could be persuaded to be distracted with a bit of roll instead”

Earning the phrase “A roll in the bum” to enter into many a euphemism.] 

Ysabell remembered herself enough to snap out of thoughts of awe and aspiration, and said returning the curtsey, “Most amenable indeed!”  Straightening Ysabell could barely contain her twinkle eyed smile, “Please, as representative of Ankh-Morpork, I wish to hear more about you-r city! I’m afraid I haven’t had the time to travel much, but hope to remedy that. There’s just so much to see on the Disc!”

The Runaway's Gamble  ch2: 

She regretted it the moment she said it. Of course Moist von Lipwig would take up the challenge to explain everything under 10 seconds.The result of which turned into a blur of words speedier than a tongue twister [ add more here ]  

It went on until Angua couldn’t stand it any longer. “Alright alright,” she said lowering him back to ground, though still holding his shirt collar tightly lest he slither away, “that’s enough, I said enough!”

“I still had 8.9 seconds,” he said  sounding put out, “did Adora get to the watch house then?”

[ later on... ] 

“Doesn’t she remind you of anyone?” Moist asked pleasantly, “I’m sure I’ve seen a breed like that runabout Ankh Morpork before.”

Angua glared at him, her ears flattening. Moist grinned back unbothered.

Meanwhile Young Sam gave this some serious thought.

“Possibly,” said Young Sam at last, “though none with a little bandana around its neck.”

Moist nodded sagely at this, “A telling detail to be sure.”

[ Later on STILL, will probably be heavily revised by the time it is published ]

In the space, the cobbles were damp, and mist was rising up from path to via to alley and so on, even the lamp light was dim, and flickered, and likewise giving weight to the mist deforming the shadows into a dance. 

It was a quiet night, but still the watchman proceeded on. Time was relative, but all was kept well as the watchman watched on, and on and on, and on, and…

Something cut through the mist turned fog, like a lance of sunlight through a cloud. With it, joining the sound of rain, and footsteps, and the mute tones of the night, was the strumming of a string instrument. 

This was most irregular. 

This would not do.

The watchman proceeded toward the sound. 

The closer the watchman became the more he’d note the dim yellow lamp light was joined by a brighter light. 

He peered, straining his eyes as the brightness tore apart his trusted night vision. 

He waved his arms, to dispel the fog and get a better line of sight. This caused even more light to spill out, no longer born back and defused.

The watchman covered his eyes with his hand, and try to peer through his fingers. It proved unhelpful. As the watchman winced, shadows lengthened and grew behind him.

Then, not dissimilar to one dimming an oil lamp, the sunlight dimmed, and the watchman gasped as he saw a golden figure dance from shingles to windowsills to rooftops in single bounds, as though it were the top of a moving train. 

“You,” gasped the watchman with recognition. 

The figure turned to the watchman, and smiled. Then the figure leapt to the watchman turning into a blob of light that shifted form, with the ease of an amorphous droplet of water, to a small bird, a dog, a mule, a hare, a horse, a fox, to a blob once more, and finally a figure with a winged cap (not to mention a few other winged things), while beholding a wand with three gold branches. 

The figure then spake thusly: I was born on the fourth day of the month, by noon I made a lyre, and by evening I stole cattle.

“A thief.” said the watchman, displeased. 

The figure laughed, spun the wand on their finger so fast that it blurred and morphed once more to the turtle lyre made of stalks of reeds across the back, a strap of cowhide, and sheep guts for string. 

The figure strummed the lyre, and spake again: I sell wind, and gift wind in a bag. My words are an alchemist’s dream. 

The watchman reached for a cigar to light, this felt like it would take a while. “A charlatan?” 

The figure gazed on, amused, then shook their head. 

“Something to do with words.”

The figure nodded, and palmed the lyre from their hand into a coin, flicked it into the air where it spun and spun and spun. 

“Oh, um…alright, alchemists want gold, that’s obvious, the fools, but what does that have to do with wind?”

The coin dropped into the figure’s palm, and in a singular motion the coin turned into a potato, then with another palming motion became a coin again, another palmed motion turned it back into a coin, another move of the hand and then a hat, back to a coin, and then 

The figure then palmed the lyre from their hand out of existence and stepped forward, more wings sprouting without reason, and spake once more: I am herald to and fro. Currier and psychopomp. 

As the words entered the watchman’s head images of crossroads, dirt roads, streets, and a vast dark desert filled his head. 

“Um?” The watchman huffed his hands on his hips, and drew deeply from his cigar. “Look can we just cut to the chase? What’s all this about?”

The figure expanded and expanded until thin as a veil, smiling all the while, as they transformed into a window wreathed in gold sunshine. It showed Young Sam wrapped in a blanket beside Angua and Moist. The three of them sleeping in a barn for who knows what reason.